Harry Potter, Chauffeur
by Usernametouse
Summary: Harry Potter needs an actual bus to pick up a wooden box. Neither Harry Potter nor Neville Longbottom know what is in the wooden box.


At the intersection of Nicollet and Franklin, two young men sat parked in the most inconspicuous white bus you've never seen. One could suggest that such a trick may or may not possibly have the chance of resembling something along the lines of magic. Maybe. You could never really know with those sorts of things.

In the driver's seat, the well kept, scraggly haired one pointed out at the passing traffic as the left most traffic light switched from green to yellow. The bus inched forward, his foot lifting from the brake. To his right, the rounded, slender faced chap with the pinched in cheeks tapped his foot under the dash. Ahead, the light shone green.

Harry's sturdy hands gripped the stitch leather wheel, gently pulling the behemoth of an automobile towards a roundabout left.

"Harry Harry Harry-"

"Stop."

Neville's mouth clapped shut.

"We're completely fine," Harry said. "See?"

Neville clicked his lips. "Yeah, I know." His fingertips continued to squeeze the grab handle above the window. His left hand rhythmically tapped the communal arm rest, a quizzical tinge marking his face.

Harry shifted his gaze from the road ahead to Neville for a flicker. "You sure about that?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"What're you asking me for? You're the one whose getting freaked the fuck out over nothing." Harry paused, and barked a short laugh. His right hand knocked twice on Neville's chest. "Don't tell me you're nervous?"

"Keep your hands on the wheel."

Harry laughed again. "What? You want me to do... this?" His left released its hold on the steering, handing authority to the car's stability, and a dash of luck.

"Come on man, don't do that."

"You seem nervous."

"Just put your hand back on the wheel."

"Look at the road, Neville. We're fine."

Neville's lips tightened. "Please, put your hands on the- oh for the love of god-" He reached out for the wheel, past the car desk, across Harry's lap and was slapped away by a defending figure.

"Calm down, it's all fine. See, my hand's back on the wheel. Take a breath, I was just having a little fun."

Neville grimaced. "Fun."

"Do you always get like this before a pickup or is this just your first time? You seem kinda old, so I'd wager there've been a line of suckers just before now who've had to deal with your shaky little ass."

"Why do you have to be such a dickhead?"

A flash of heat seared Harry's voice. "Why are you so fucking scared?"

"I just don't like cars, all right? Fuck man, quit getting pissy with me. I can't control it. It's instinct."

"Whatever." Harry pressed down on his door panel, and the window slid down with a drawling, mechanical whoosh. He laid his arm in the empty space and dropped his head into the palm of his hand.

Neville looked out the opposite window, tempered eyes tracing vague figures before they fell into the distance. The pair sat there in the heavy silence for what couldn't have been fewer than four blocks.

"You ever been in a car before?" Harry finally asked.

"Look man, I really don't appreciate-"

"Hey hey hey hey, I'm only asking. Genuine curiosity, nothing more." Neville was silent. "Look, I shouldn't have taken my hands off the wheel. It was obvious that you weren't into it. Alright?"

Neville's gaze shifted toward the trimmed man. He breathed. "Alright. Thanks. And yeah, I have been in a car. Never one this big before, though. Can hardly call this fucker a car. What does the muggle military call their heavy fucks again? Tank? Yeah, tank. This thing is more like a tank than a car."

"A bus, actually."

"Huh?"

"It's called a bus. Not a car, not a tank. Somewhere in the middle. Muggles use things like this to take children to school. I've heard that you need a license to drive one of them."

"I'm guessing you don't have a bus license?"

Harry laughed. "I don't have a car license."

"And they let you drive?"

"You don't need a license to know what you're doing."

"That sounds like the sort of thing a sixth year would say before splinching themself."

"Yeah, well I haven't splinched myself yet."

"Man, I don't know if that's a healthy way to think about it."

"That's the only way to think about it." He added, "Well, if you want to stay sane."

"Easier said than done."

"Ain't that the truth." The tiny air conditioning units blew thin puffs of air, never reaching the two in the car's mug. Harry grinned. "So what do you think we're picking up?"

Neville shrugged. "Gotta be big if we need this massive thing."

Harry nodded. "Personally, I think it's gonna be a big wooden box with something enormously heavy inside."

"Isn't it always?"

"Exactly."

"What's in those boxes, you think?"

"Like I'd know. If I were enough of a big wig in the Order to know something like that, you think I'd be the guy they dumped box chauffeur duty on? Dumbledore doesn't tell me shit."

"Well obviously. I just figured you might've checked or something. You seem like the type to, you know, break the rules."

Harry shook his head. "Easier said than done. Again, Dumbledore doesn't tell me shit, and if he doesn't want me to know something, I don't know it. Well, at least not yet."

"You've tried?"

"Try-ing," Harry said. "As in, currently. As in, I will try today, and tomorrow, and someday, when I figure out exactly what ward patterns he's using, I'll know."

"But Harry, that's treason! You'll be punished!"

"One needs to be caught for an action to be treason. And you won't turn me in, right?"

"Well no, but you don't know that."

"Yes I do. I trust you."

"That's a stupid reason."

"I have no reason not to."

"That's still a stupid reason. You don't know me."

Harry scoffed. "What do you think this whole thing has been?"

"What whole thing?"

"You know, this! This chat, so to speak."

"It's been just that, a chat! You don't know me. You don't know my likes, my dislikes, my fears, nothin'."

"I know you're afraid of cars."

"Fuck off."

And they both laughed. And they stopped laughing. And Harry's permanent grin twisted with Neville's faux scowl made them laugh again, shorter this time. Harry swallowed a deep, tranquil breath. Neville followed suit.

"And we've just about made it," Harry said, pointing. "It's that grey building just ahead, the one next to the little apartment building."

Neville squinted. "You mean that run-down shit hole? With the broken windows?"

"Got it in one."

The bus, now at least three side streets from the main, swerved past a dimly glowing neon Motel 6 sign, and pulled into the open garage.


End file.
